


Apples of the Greenwood

by Esteliel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel makes the acquaintance of a bewitching young elf in the Greenwood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apples of the Greenwood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arcadii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcadii/gifts).



> Written for arcadii's request for Glorfindel/Legolas :)

The first day after Glorfindel had crossed the border to the Woodland realm, a slender sprite seemed to fall from a tree, a lithesome thing of long legs and a cream-colored braid that dangled past his buttocks. Glorfindel, who was weary from hours spent riding next to the captain of Thranduil's guard who had awaited him, watched with idle interest as the elf approached his horse without fear, even when the stallion stamped his hoof and snorted loudly, though it was more from a desire to show off the play of muscle in his powerful neck than true threat. 

Glorfindel smiled to himself when the young creature had his arms wrapped around Asfaloth's broad chest a moment later, the stallion nosing at his tunic.

"Well done," he said, and the youth looked up without fear. "Rub him down and water him for me, I'll make it worth your while."

The youth smiled, his eyes wide, but unafraid, and Glorfindel leaned back against the tree he had sheltered beneath to watch, amused and pleased by the youth's fearless demeanor.

 

The second day, the youth slipped from a tree when they were riding along a river; the path was so narrow that he had been spared the captain's terse conversation, but not narrow enough for the youth to squeeze past him and slip Asfaloth half an apple.

"Hey," Glorfindel said, good-naturedly, for he did not mind his stallion receiving the affection he deserved, though never before had people ignored his own presence to do so. The sprite looked up, flashed him a grin - the guard captain turned, another dire remark on his lips, and like a flash the youth was gone, the long braid trailing behind him.

 

The third day, the boy did not show up at all. Glorfindel, who had idly studied the trees they rode past, did not pay much thought to it. The youth had been a welcome interruption of the Greenwood's murky gloom, but as fond as he was of slender long legs, firm buttocks and long, creamy braids, there were enough other things on his mind to keep him focused during the day's travel.

 

On the fourth day, they rested by a lake. The guard captain did not even bother to disguise his derision when Glorfindel voiced his desire for a bath; Glorfindel as well took no precaution to hide his relief that he would have no company in the water. 

The lake was dark and still, but the sun was shining, and after three days in the gloom of Mirkwood, Glorfindel was glad enough to drift quietly beneath the sun, the water cool against his skin, with no sound but that of the water lapping against the stony shore to disturb the quiet.

When there was a sound at last, no louder than that of a fish surfacing to catch a fly, he turned his head. He was not even surprised to find the youth had slid boldly into the water. He tilted his head when he came closer, wondering whether the boy intended to tease him once more with his presence, only to vanish again after a minute like a bird taking flight, but when warm skin pressed against his, he smiled, and the youth sighed, and there were no words between them but those spoken with touch alone.

There was nothing shy about the youth. His eyes were calm, curious; his hands traced Glorfindel's strong neck, splayed against his chest. Later they clutched at his back as he arched, pushed against a stone; his skin felt very hot in the cool water, and his mouth very sweet as Glorfindel moved against him.

It was more than good, and welcome after the long travel. Glorfindel pressed a kiss to his neck, held him tightly with one strong arm, felt that slender body writhe and tremble and squirm, wet and cool against his own heated skin. His cock ached; he thought for a moment of the youth bent over one of the boulders, but there was something delicious to the friction of flushed skin in the cold water of the lake, and he mouthed at the slender throat, licked back up to that firm, small mouth, was rewarded with a low moan as the slender body tensed, and then he spent himself as well, and the boy breathed little huffs of laughter against his skin as he held him. 

Glorfindel gave him a fond smile as he drew back. “Are you going to run off again now? Or will you demand another apple first?”

The boy nipped playfully at his shoulder, just like his stallion might while in search of an apple. The sun gleamed on the youth's pale tresses. Glorfindel ached to unravel the braid, to fan out the locks, thread his fingers through them, but then the youth sighed against his skin, smiled at him, and turned to clamber back up the rocks towards the shore.

Glorfindel shook his head, content to remain in the water for a while. 

“You did not even tell me your name!” he called after the boy, laughing a little. The youth turned and smiled at him. 

“Do I need one?” he asked, and Glorfindel's lips twitched again.

“Not for what I have in mind!”

“Well then!” The youth's laughter was sweet and clear. For one timeless moment, he stood poised there in the light of the sun, unabashedly naked, all youthful grace and brazenness. The sun gleamed on his wet limbs, and Glorfindel eyed him with open appreciation. The next moment, he was gone, but another small bird of the forest taking flight, and Glorfindel moved to his back, idly drifting in the water while the sun warmed his chest. He hoped the Valar would see fit to send this particular bird back to his side once more before they arrived at Thranduil's Halls. He did not expect much from his stay. He definitely did not expect entertainment of the sort this shameless, sun-haired creature promised.

 

He was not wrong. The talks were tedious. Thranduil was tedious. Thranduil's advisers were even more tedious. The only thing that was not tedious was the fine Dorwinion that was served, and his luxurious chambers, and the private caves filled by a small underground lake. No, Glorfindel could hardly complain, but as he floated in the warm, faintly salty water, watching the reflection of the glimmering waves in the crystal of the cave's ceiling, he thought idly of the youth's mouth against his own, how the soft lips had parted for his kiss, and he slipped a hand down between his legs as he thought of them wrapped around his cock. Certainly that would be just as sweet as kissing him had been...

Soft laughter woke him from his dream, and a slender hand that stroked up his thigh with firm certainty. He was not even surprised to find that his dreams had summoned that pale bird of the forest once more, although he frowned at the thought that the youth had managed to slip past Thranduil's guard so easily. As much as he cherished his privacy, had Thranduil no watch set for his quarters? The boy was certainly welcome, but the thought that anyone could simply slip into his chambers made him frown for a moment.

“You again,” he said, and the youth smiled.

“Me again,” he said. His fingers closed lightly around Glorfindel's cock, and Glorfindel sighed, and then banished all thought of Thranduil's lax security with a smile, and wrapped an arm around that elegant neck.

“Do you still have no name then?”

“Do you have things in mind for which I would need one?” The youth's eyes laughed at him as his hot fingers slid up and down his aching cock. Glorfindel bit back a groan.

“No.” 

The youth kept laughing at his admission, even as Glorfindel at last could no longer bear the teasing and wrapped his arms around him to pull him close. The boy's legs wrapped around his waist as he carried him out of the underground lake. They were dripping water everywhere as he walked with him to his bed, but he did not care. The youth’s mouth was hot, and he was eager, and that was all that mattered, even as he tumbled them onto the bed with cool water running from their bodies. But what did it matter that the sheets were wet when his aching cock slid between those slim thighs, when the youth laughed, breathless and bewitching, and tilted his head back to demand another kiss, his tongue very hot against Glorfindel's lips.

“Come _on_!” he demanded, still breathing little huffs of laughter against Glorfindel's lips as he wrestled his way to the top. “Haven't you made me wait enough? Is it true what they say; are you too old to enjoy yourself? Would you prefer I bring you a tome from the library to--”

“Enough!” Glorfindel said, laughing himself; then he groaned when those skilled fingers found his cock again, stroking him with quiet demand. “So you know who I am then?”

The youth leaned forward, eyes gleaming, taking another kiss. “Oh, I knew all along,” he said, and then squirmed with impatience, so that Glorfindel had to bite his lips to keep from making an undignified sound. 

“But I don't know who you are.” Glorfindel smoothed his palm down the slim back, allowed his fingers to tease at the crease between the youth's buttocks until his breathing hitched.

“Again – is that something you need for what you have in mind?” The youth laughed again, then made a choked sound, eyes closing as he shivered when Glorfindel breached him with an oil-slick finger.

And that, Glorfindel found, was a very good way to keep the youth from distracting him with further comments. He slicked himself with more of the oil, watching with deep satisfaction how the youth writhed on his fingers - two now, and ah, he felt good, so hot and tight around his fingers that at last Glorfindel bit back a curse at the sinuous movement above him, pulled his fingers free, and it took no further encouragement. The youth straddled him, sank down on him, and Glorfindel groaned with deep pleasure; he grasped the boy's waist tightly, watching how the youth's own face was transformed by blissful need.

"There," he said at last, breathless, jubilant, "there, is that not all you need to know of me? What more is there?" and then they did not talk for a long while. Glorfindel smoothed his hands up the youth's flanks, panting his need against his lips when the boy bent his head for another kiss, his fingers tightening his hold as the youth rode him with slow rolls of his hips, tormenting both of them, allowing the pleasure to build and build. At last, Glorfindel gripped him tight enough to bruise, forced himself deeper inside with quick, hard thrusts, and then the youth shuddered and moaned, and collapsed on top of him, and Glorfindel stifled his own groan of release in the boy's sweaty hair.

For half an hour, they rested in each other's arms, content and quiet as the sweat dried on their bodies. When Glorfindel began to slip into reverie, he was not even surprised to feel movement signaling that the youth was slipping from his embrace once more, though he made an annoyed sound and murmured "Again?"

He heard the youth's laughter before he slipped away. "Perhaps you should carry apples on you if you seek to catch me again."

Glorfindel groaned and turned his face into the pillow, content to stretch and enjoy the ache of his muscles. He had no doubt that the youth would be back eventually, with or without apples.

 

The next morning, Glorfindel was still in a good mood, even though breaking his fast with Thranduil's household in attendance was not how he preferred to start his day. In fact, he thought as he reached out for a pot of yellow butter, he preferred mornings that began in bed, with a willing companion wrapped around him. 

He gave the adviser seated to his left a bland smile, nodding idly at his chatter about the Greenwood's sacrifices in the war against the darkness spreading from the south. With a rustle of heavy silk, someone took the place to his right. A plate of cheese was offered to him, and he accepted with a distracted nod; Thranduil's son had been absent the preceding day, but it seemed that today, the Prince had found time to entertain his father's guest in his undoubtedly full schedule. Glorfindel suppressed a grimace, gathering himself for the same diatribe of resentments he had already had more than his fill of from his left. He cut off a large chunk of a pale, crumbly cheese of goat's milk, determinedly staring at his plate. If he would have to spend the entire meal listening to the chatter of Thranduil's brood, the least Thranduil could do was to pay him for his time with food better than what they had been served on their journey through the forest. 

Idly, Glorfindel wondered if there were eggs; then he decided it was not worth the effort and the potential insult to ask the prince.

A moment later, a hand came to rest on his arm. When he looked up in distraction, the Prince passed him a basket - almost he made a pleased sound that his wish had been granted so fast, but then he realized that the Prince had not passed him a basket of eggs, but one that was filled with apples.

The sight woke a memory. Suddenly, the innocent weight of the slender hand on his arm seemed to gain a different meaning. He looked up, parted his lips - and found that he could not speak, for there, seated to his right, clad in a luxurious robe of stiff, embroidered green silk, sitting in the place that belonged to Thranduil's son, sat the youth that had slipped into his quarters one night ago, the youth that had touched him so brazenly, had kissed him with such ardor and sweetness, and had refused to give his name, though he had trailed him since Glorfindel had first set foot into his father's forest. 

"Welcome to the Greenwood," the youth said, and as he leaned back with quiet satisfaction, as pleased as a cat curled up in a stray ray of warm sunlight, he no longer seemed like a boy to Glorfindel, and for a moment, a hot flush of shame overcame him at how well he had been played.

"I am Legolas, son of Thranduil," he then continued, and took one of the red apples to press it into Glorfindel's palm. His smile was warm, and there was no guile in it - just a memory of pleasure, and maybe a promise, Glorfindel thought as he accepted the gift.

"Legolas," he repeated, and then nodded slowly, a reluctant smile springing up on his own lips. "Well met, Prince. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."


End file.
